


Love, Yours is the Future

by TheLordOfLaMancha



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Enjolras is really bad at asking Grantaire out, Enjoltaire Week 2017, ExR Week 2017, Grantaire makes posters, It's exactly what it looks like, M/M, Prompt Fill, Tattoos, Thank god he has excellent wingmen, it's not what it looks like, who are we kidding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 13:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11254389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLordOfLaMancha/pseuds/TheLordOfLaMancha
Summary: “Calm down, everyone,” Enjolras addressed them. “I am truly moved by your concern for me, but it’s not what it looks like. It’s just another tattoo. It should be healed within the week.”Filled for the Enjoltaire Week 2017 prompt "It's not what it looks like." Day #2.





	Love, Yours is the Future

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to meanttobeclever for endlessly helping me hash out tattoo headcanons, even though she was moving. And thanks to [thenarglecharm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenarglecharm/pseuds/thenarglecharm) for reading about four different versions of this drabble, and squealing excitedly at parts I thought might've been weird. And finally, thanks to [TeatimeDuchess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeatimeDuchess/pseuds/TeatimeDuchess), my lovely literary wife, who reads everything I write, even though she's not even in the Les Mis fandom.
> 
> Also, the quote "Love, yours is the future" and "We must move forward" are both pulled straight from Enjolras speeches in the Brick.
> 
> Final thanks to [just-french-me-up](http://just-french-me-up.tumblr.com/) and [apolloandr](http://apolloandr.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for hosting ExR Week 2017!

Grantaire stepped up and slid Enjolras a large Manilla yellow envelope, and Enjolras looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I couldn’t make a decision, so I made both,” Grantaire explained sullenly. “Use whichever one you want.”

The rally posters. Right, Enjolras thought. He had forgotten he had asked Grantaire to do that. He honestly hadn’t expected Grantaire to come through. Though, the more Enjolras thought about it, he couldn’t think of a time where Grantaire hadn’t delivered as expected.

“Thank you, Grantaire,” Enjolras said sincerely instead. “We will put it to a vote tonight.”

Grantaire just shrugged and sidled up to Bahorel at the bar. As the artist walked away, Enjolras paused his preparations to thumb open the envelope and peak at the posters within.

The first was dominated by a familiar red flag held by a small silhouette of a man in the bottom corner. The details of the rally waved along the flag in swirling, eye catching lettering like a call to arms. Centered on the flag was the message: “We must go forward.” This was a predictable design for them, the red flag a symbol of their group.

The other poster was… different. Still traditional as far as poster design went, but different from the usual elaborate, colourful work Grantaire had done for them in the past. It was all clean typography on a single winding ribbon that filled the page, woven between elegant blooming flowers. Along the ribbon, in Grantaire’s bold letters, read: “Love, yours is the future.”

Enjolras loved it at once. He loved the clean lines, the simplicity, the message.

Detailed in small letters at the bottom were the time and place of the rally, no further explanation.

This is the poster, Enjolras thought. He would choose it on sight, without hesitation.

But theirs was a democracy, Enjolras reminded himself. It must be put to a vote.

Enjolras cleared his throat and eyed the clock on the wall, the hour growing later in his distraction. It was time for the meeting to start.

“Good evening, everyone,” Enjolras began, gathering their attentions. “Another item has been added to the agenda tonight. We will be voting on the poster for the next rally, Grantaire has graciously given us two designs to choose from…”

The flag poster won by a considerable amount and Enjolras felt disappointed. Not that he hadn’t argued in favour of his favourite, but he simply couldn’t put into the right words why it spoke to him. The others had made valid points, noting that the flag design spoke more to their cause and what they were trying to accomplish. Enjolras simply inherently liked the ribbon design.

He was not alone. One other member of the ABC had voted alongside his choice. A single ragged hand of a certain drunkard raised in support.

“Don’t bother yourself about it, Apollo,” Grantaire said cheerily next to him, knocking his sloshing bottle against the blonde’s shoulder. “The ribbon design was just a silly thing I made up. Something you said in a speech once I thought would look nice.”

Enjolras’ eyes snapped up to Grantaire’s unfocussed gaze.

“I said this?” Enjolras questioned, his brow furrowed.

“Yeah, at Pride I think?” Grantaire replied. “I wrote it down in my notebook.”

Enjolras smiled and turned to pick up his beloved poster from the table in front of him.

“I love it,” he murmured.

“Keep it,” Grantaire said, shrugging. “It’s yours!”

The drunkard threw his arms up dramatically in the air and laughed boisterously, walking off to where the others had begun to socialize, the meeting drawn to a close.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said softly.

~o~

The week after the rally, Enjolras walked in with a thick layer of gauze taped over his bicep and was immediately surrounded by fretting fingers and worried glances.

“Oh my god, what happened?” Joly squeaked, fingering the edges of the bandage until Enjolras shooed him away.

“Calm down, everyone,” Enjolras addressed them. “I am truly moved by your concern for me, but it’s not what it looks like. It’s just another tattoo. It should be healed within the week.”

_Another_ , piqued Grantaire’s interest. Another suggested the righteous blonde had _more than one._

“I hope you went to a safe place!” Joly worried. “There’s so many diseases you can get from needles!”

“I assure you, Joly, I did my research thoroughly,” Enjolras assured him. “This one was a little more complex than my others.”

“What’d you get?” Grantaire asked, genuinely curious, from the far side of the room.

Rather than simply answering, Enjolras seemed to stutter to a halt, gaping like a fish. Next to him, Courfeyrac burst into laughter.

“Oh, oh,” Courfeyrac wheezed, clapping Enjolras on the shoulder. “You didn’t think this through, did you?”

Grantaire looked confused. He didn’t understand what about his question was so funny, and Grantaire was usually the first to pick up on even the subtlest of humour.

“It’s a simple question, Apollo,” Grantaire chided, clicking his tongue. “I’m shocked, truly.”

Was Enjolras _blushing?_ No, Grantaire thought. No, I must just be imagining that. Still, the blonde at the front of the room couldn’t hold Grantaire’s expectant gaze. He revelled in watching Enjolras fluster.

“It’s not what you think,” Combeferre supplied from behind him. “Now leave him alone, you’ll all see it soon enough.”

“Yes, we mustn’t rush the healing process,” Joly confirmed. “Or he could lose his whole arm!”

“Now, now, Joly,” Bousset soothed from beside him. “I’m sure he’s safe from all that.”

“It must be something shocking indeed if Enjolras is _embarrassed_ by it,” Grantaire muttered, walking up to Bahorel and taking another absent sip from his drink. “Who gets a tattoo they’re embarrassed to have?”

“A drunken mistake?” Bahorel offered as the meeting began and the room settled.

“Nah,” Grantaire waived off. “It’s Enjolras. Besides, ‘Ferre and Courf would keep him out of things he’d regret.”

Bahorel nodded. “Maybe it’s personal.”

Grantaire frowned thoughtfully and let his attention focus rapturously on his noble Apollo, his mind wandering to where the other mystery tattoos might be hidden.

Three or four drinks later and the meeting winding down to social joviality, Grantaire plucked up the courage to bother Enjolras again.

“If you won’t tell me what the tattoo is,” Grantaire began, cutting Enjolras off as the blonde went to cross the room. “At least permit me to guess?”

Enjolras crossed his arms and huffed, but entertained the drunkard.

“If you must.”

Grantaire contorted his face in thought, stroking his chin dramatically. Then his eyes became foolishly wide with an idea. Enjolras chucked at the brunette’s theatrics and Grantaire smiled.

“Liberté, égalité, fraternité!” Grantaire concluded, but Enjolras shook his head.

“No, but Combeferre has that one,” Enjolras remarked, gesturing to ‘Ferre, who touched the spot on his arm by reflex.

“I know,” Grantaire admitted. “But you two seemed the type to get matching tattoos.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Maybe we already do?”

Grantaire just gaped as Combeferre winked at him. _Winked._

“I will keep guessing!” Grantaire called after Enjolras. “You’ll tell me if I guess correctly?”

“Yes, I will, Grantaire.”

~o~

Grantaire’s second guess was a French flag.

“Haha, no,” Enjolras laughed. “I already have the flag on my ankle.”

When Grantaire looked curious, Enjolras added, “It was my first tattoo.”

“Really?” Grantaire asked. “My first tattoo was ‘ _Unum scio, me nihil scire_.’”

Grantaire lifted his sleeve to show where the curling Latin wound around his arm. Enjolras just looked confused.

“One thing I know, that I know nothing,” Jehan supplied, joining the conversation. “It’s Socrates.”

Enjolras crossed his arms and glared. “I knew that.”

Grantaire smiled.

He sent off a text the next morning.

_There’s no way it’s finished yet,_ he wrote. _But would you get a_ Liberty Leading the People _tattoo?_

_That’s an incredible idea,_ Enjolras had replied. _But no, I didn’t get a Delacroix._

_Okay, a portrait of Robespierre then_ , Grantaire fired back.

_No, Grantaire,_ Enjolras texted. _Just… no._

~o~

Later that week, the triumvirate were meeting at Grantaire’s usual haunt to discuss potential changes to security at their next event. One drink in, Grantaire popped up a Buzzfeed listicle of the top cliché tattoos and bothered them mercilessly.

“A map of the world with all the places you’ve been coloured in?”

“No,” Enjolras dismissed.

“An arrow? Your birthday?” Grantaire listed. “Your mom’s birthday?”

Enjolras just shook his head as he listened to Combeferre across from him.

“Your name in hieroglyphics? No, wait,” Grantaire mimed devastated shock. “You didn’t get something cliché in Chinese did you? Please tell me you didn’t.”

“Wrong on all accounts,” Enjolras had supplied.

When the three settled into a break, Grantaire flipped a chair around and joined them, his arms resting on the back.

“The date of the first protest you ever went to,” Grantaire hazarded. “Dates are very in right now for tattoos.”

Enjolras shook his head again, but smiled fondly.

“We already have a different tattoo for that,” Combeferre offered. “The matching ones.”

“We each got a band-aid over the place we were injured at our first rally,” Courfeyrac explained. “I dislocated my shoulder, so mine’s here. Enjolras broke a rib so his there.”

Courfeyrac gestured to his middle rib.

“Combeferre got away with only breaking his toe,” Enjolras said with false spite. “So his is on his foot.”

“Really. Band-aids.” Grantaire chuckled. “You guys couldn’t think of anything cooler?”

“We were really young,” Combeferre admitted.

Grantaire wondered absently just how young Enjolras must have been then when he got the flag tattoo.

“Grantaire,” Courfeyrac addressed him, breaking him of his reverie. “I have a question about your tattoos.”

“Alright,” the artist smiled. He loved talking about his ink.

“Have you ever gotten a tattoo because it reminds you of someone you cared about?”

While the question was addressed to Grantaire, Courfeyrac never broke eye contact with Enjolras. The blonde almost choked on his drink.

Grantaire rubbed reflexively on the tiny sun inked black into the corner of his wrist. He had drawn it there half a dozen times during meetings as his mind had filled with thoughts of his glorious Apollo. Eventually he acquiesced that he should really just get it as a tattoo and stop wasting his expensive pens on a doodle.

“Yeah, I have,” Grantaire replied. “Who hasn’t?”

None of them pushed Grantaire further, but Courfeyrac narrowed his eyes and smirked at Enjolras.

_So it’s a personal tattoo then,_ Grantaire texted Enjolras later that evening.

_God damn it Courfeyrac,_ was all Grantaire had received in reply.

~o~

Grantaire shot off one final guess before the meeting that evening.

_Did you get a tattoo of your infamous red flag?_ he sent via text.

_No,_ Enjolras replied. _But that’s your closest guess so far._

~o~

Grantaire had resolutely decided not to bother Enjolras about the tattoo for the duration of the meeting, whatever the tattoo turned out to be.

He was just unsure how well his will would hold to his resolution.

He watched with a level gaze as Enjolras entered. The weather was hot and sticky out, and their leader had dismissed his infamous red jacket for a simple black t-shirt. The arm with the tattoo was facing away from Grantaire, and he waited for the reaction of others from across the room. No one seemed particularly surprised, but almost everyone seemed to smile knowingly.

That’s… interesting, Grantaire thought.

Then Enjolras turned, and Grantaire perked up to catch a peek at the mysterious tattoo.

And there, stark against Enjolras’ skin, was an elegant winding ribbon with “Love, yours is the future” scrawled in intimately familiar handwriting. _Grantaire’s_ handwriting.

It was the poster design Enjolras had loved so much. And now it was tattooed. On Enjolras’ arm. For everyone to see.

Grantaire paled. Enjolras hadn’t been kidding when he said he loved it.

His resolution could fuck itself to hell.

Grantaire found himself standing and crossing the room before he realized what he was doing, his fingers reaching out to touch the still slightly raised ink etched into Enjolras’ arm.

The man in question stilled at Grantaire’s approach and Grantaire paused.

“It’s your poster design,” Enjolras said sheepishly, and no, Grantaire wasn’t seeing things this time, Enjolras was definitely blushing. The blonde was nervously rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Grantaire exclaimed, reaching tentatively out for Enjolras’ arm again, and the blonde nodded. “I love it! I don’t understand why, but it’s wonderful, Apollo.”

Grantaire could feel Enjolras’ shiver as he caressed his fingers gently over the inked ribbon.

“I really liked the design,” Enjolras admitted. “I mean, really liked it. I probably should have asked you first, but you did say I could keep it.”

“Keep it, yes,” Grantaire replied, still admiring the tattoo reverently. “But I never expected something like this!”

“Sorry,” Enjolras sighed, but smiled.

And oh, Grantaire realized he had never been this close to Enjolras before. His breath caught, and he stepped back nervously as Courfeyrac approached them with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Enjolras affirmed adamantly. Grantaire simply raised a confused eyebrow.

“Sure, Enjolras, sure,” Courfeyrac said sarcastically, and left them after a friendly clap on both their shoulders that shoved the two of them closer together.

Enjolras glared daggers at Courfeyrac over Grantaire’s shoulder, and Grantaire kept his gaze firmly locked on the tattoo.

The silence that followed was awkward and heavy. Grantaire was just about to turn and leave when Enjolras spoke up.

“I was wondering whether or not I should get it coloured?” Enjolras asked.

Turning back to Enjolras, Grantaire replied, “That’s really your choice.”

“I just don’t know if it will be too much?” Enjolras admitted.

A thought occurred to Grantaire. He paused. It was a ridiculous idea.

“What?” Enjolras said.

“Nothing, never mind.”

“What.” Enjolras crossed his arms, and oh no, Grantaire thought. That only brought more attention to the tattoo when the blonde did that.

“I could colour it,” Grantaire suggested, eyes glued to his sneakers. “If you want?”

“You know how to tattoo?” Enjolras asked, incredulous.

“No, no,” Grantaire shook his head and huffed out a laugh. “But my markers are in my bag, I could _literally_ colour it in.”

Enjolras stilled for a minute as he processed this.

“Then I’d know what it would look like before committing to it,” he completed.

“Exactly.”

And that was how Grantaire spent the rest of the meeting wrestling Enjolras’ arm from his wild gesticulating and coloured in his tattoo. Enjolras had insisted that Grantaire could colour _while_ Enjolras conducted the meeting, but eventually Grantaire had to stop colouring any time Enjolras spoke. Which was a lot.

Not to mention that skin wasn’t his usual medium and he wasn’t sure how to blend his markers on someone’s arm… The colouring job wasn’t his best work. Though Enjolras’ eyes positively sparkled when they set eyes on Grantaire’s work when the meeting ended.

“You’re coming with me to the tattoo parlour when I get this coloured,” Enjolras stated. It was basically a demand, not a question.

“You… what?” Grantaire asked unintelligently.

“You’re coming with me,” Enjolras stated again. “I want it done just like this.”

“You can take a picture and the tattoo artist-”

Grantaire cut off when Enjolras visibly deflated.

“Or…” Grantaire continued. “I could come with you? I guess?”

“Great, I’ll text you the date when I know.”

Enjolras walked away to have his freshly coloured tattoo fawned over by the rest of the Amis.

Grantaire just stood gaping until Courfeyrac returned to click his mouth shut.

“I would just like to clarify,” Courfeyrac began, moving to Grantaire’s line of sight and casually brushing off the artist’s shoulders. “That Enjolras just asked you out on a date.”

“He… what!?” Grantaire asked again, vehemently shaking his head. “He didn’t, if you’re asking? Why would he do that?”

“No, he did just ask you out,” Courfeyrac frowned.

“There was no asking!” Grantaire exclaimed. “He demanded. There was no choice! And it’s not a date, he just wants me to make sure the tattoo artist gets the colours right or something?”

Combeferre sidled up next to him and shook his head fondly.

“We’ll talk to him about that,” Combeferre said. “He gets… demanding when he panics.”

“Still not a date though,” Grantaire interjects. “I don’t know where you’re getting the crazy idea that _he_ would ever be into _me_.”

“Enjolras made me hold his hand through his tattoo,” Courfeyrac explained without hesitation. “And the whole time, all he could complain about was how he wished he was holding _your_ hand instead.”

“When Enjolras brought your poster home originally,” Combeferre added. “He would not shut up about how _you_ drew him something for over forty minutes.”

Courfeyrac crossed his arms.

“Yeah, it’s a date.”

“Shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> I know I kind of took the prompt loosely. But it's there! If you squint.
> 
> Thanks again to [just-french-me-up](http://just-french-me-up.tumblr.com/) and [apolloandr](http://apolloandr.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr for hosting ExR Week 2017!


End file.
